


Touch

by DollyPop



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Comfort, Comfort Sex, F/M, Hand Jobs, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 18:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6968656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyPop/pseuds/DollyPop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marie should have been the doctor. She had hands that could heal. Hands that could cause so much pleasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

He was used to being wounded. Whether his split skin was from his own hand or not, blood and lacerations and scars were no strangers to him. And he was proud of them, besides. Everything left a scar and the reminder wasn’t always unpleasant. A reminder was important.

Stein just found it a shame that Marie had to see some of them. The self-inflicted wounds she could stomach: she trusted him (perhaps naively, but he had always wanted to be trusted) not to go too far. But the ones she was witnessing now weren’t from his own hand, and the reminder of _that_  was bitter.

His back had been all out of place after the fight with Noah, when Marie had been flung at a pillar and he had caught her, putting himself between her and solid rock, and it wasn’t getting better, regardless of how often he stretched or how many times he cracked his neck. His back simply protested every movement. 

Getting old, he supposed. It was a privilege to live to 30. Men like him often didn’t get that chance.

Still, he had simply lived with it while Marie was busy healing. She had taken worse than a bad back. The internal bleeding alone would have her out for weeks, not to mention all the other wounds she maintained from Justin.

Just a boy or not, Justin had burned his bridges. Being framed Stein could deal with, could even understand. Killing Joe was horrific, worthy of the death penalty in of itself, but Stein had never truly been close to the man. Hurting Marie, however? Hurting Marie was unforgivable. Emotionally, physically, or otherwise. He found that he was more concerned with the state of Marie’s soul after Joe’s murder rather than the fact that Joe was killed, or that he was being framed. She had been so distraught.

Marie.

76 stitches.

He had administered 76 stitches after she fought with Justin and Stein was too busy being bogged down by Noah to help her. He hadn’t been there for her, for his weapon, for his _partner_ , in a fight and she was hurt as a result of it. He couldn’t fully blame himself, of course, that would be foolish. But he could admit he had a hand in what had happened to her. Perhaps if he could keep a level head for once in his damn life, she wouldn’t have ended up on his operating table. 

He never wanted to hold a needle or a scalpel in her presence again. The exploratory laparotomy was burned into his brain, memorized. The feeling of needle into flesh, into her flesh, was unforgettable.

But she was healed, now. She was healed and he, as usual, wasn’t.

And, old or no, a bad back was interfering with his abilities and concentration.

The best part about his relationship with Marie was that she knew him, through and through, and he knew her. Marie did not ask him if he was okay, did not tell him she was sorry for the wounds on his back after he put himself between a pillar and her and saved her life, but he could feel the sadness in her soul. They had been…involved for a while, and he knew her as intimately as anyone could know another person. He understood her down to the marrow.

And he trusted her to help.

When he felt her palms glide over his shoulders, her fingers tracing the lacerations that had semi-healed, he didn’t stop her. He didn’t even consider it swallowing his pride when he went to her, asking if she could crack his back into place, just as she did when they were first partnered as kids. He should have thought ahead to how she would feel about the scars on his back, even he was somewhat displeased by the wounds.

Stein prided himself on having clean handiwork: his stitches were immaculate under normal circumstances but there was only so much even he could do with just a mirror and arms that couldn’t reach back far enough.

She ran the pads of her fingers over the poorly stitched up cuts once more, and this time, it felt different.

She had activated her wavelength, then. She had to have, because he made an instinctive noise of pleasure from the back of his throat and curled up to her touch. 

Marie was simply supposed to crack his back into place, something she had done several times in the past, several missions in the past when they were still kids and partners before she left for Oceania. Her jokes of how she was Swedish and thus had to be good at massages were often stale, but they had never been sad, before.

Perhaps she blamed herself for the wounds. 

He wishes she didn’t. She felt everything so deeply, so strongly. Sometimes, he was so caught up in that, in her. She filtered nothing when they were alone. She was a hurricane of a woman, a gale so strong he felt like he could only exist if he was at the eye, close to her. 

And though she wasn’t speaking, he felt it all, besides. She filtered her wavelength against his skin and all his muscles reacted to her touch, relaxing, calming fully, and he moaned once more as his eyes closed.

Marie should have been the doctor. She had hands that could heal. Hands that could cause so much pleasure.

Soothingly, she rubbed circles down his spine, and he shifted slightly to try to get more. Patience was never his virtue.

Come to think of it, he didn’t know if he had any virtues, at all.

It was getting more and more annoying to think, and he wanted to click his bolt back to clear his thoughts, but he just felt so boneless and pliant under Marie’s hands. Whether she was joking or not, she was genuinely a healer by nature.

He gasped when one of her hands came to his bolt, her fingers carefully tracing where the metal met his skull, and if he were speaking, he would have stuttered. His  _thoughts_  stuttered, halting and tripping over themselves.

She hadn’t even turned it, yet. She was only touching him and he wondered for a brief moment when he became  _so_  affected by her grasp. He was wrapped around her finger entirely when it came to most things, and his body was practically begging for her touch everywhere.

Anywhere.

 _Everywhere_.

He closed his eyes, his cheek resting against the pillow she’d laid down before she offered to crack his back, and he bit his lip when her golden hand finally grabbed his bolt and she filtered her wavelength in through the metal, the material acting as something of a conductor. Any remaining tension drained away from him and he relaxed even further into the mattress as a result.

And with that, she finally used the hand that was still on his back, rubbing soothingly, to push down harshly, causing his body to jerk in temporary pain. The hand on his bolt left, coming to his back again, and she moved lower down on his spine, pressing there, as well. The sharp crack was heard through the air, and he coiled in tightly, but Marie bent over him, pressing her golden lips to his exposed cheek, and after just a moment, the pain left.

Ah, she’d learned since they were younger, then. Lulling him into security and comfort before finally administering the slight pain needed to crack the bones back into place. 

He sighed through his nose, spine flexing with newfound mobility, but she didn’t take her touch off of him, and he found that he didn’t want her to, either. Instead, she rubbed his bare side, and he felt her cheek come to his shoulder blade as she hugging him, bringing her arm around him so her palm could settle on his belly.

His breath hitched at the embrace, heat coiling inside of him from the new position, and he shifted for a slightly different reason, this time. He felt her eyelashes flutter on his skin as she lifted her cheek away, instead, kissing the nape of his neck and moving downward as she rubbed his ribcage, her other hand settling on his hip where his pants were slung low.

He didn’t want her to stop, but she hesitated at his lower back, sucking in a deep breath as she made her way back up his spine and this time, when her lips moved over his skin, it was over his scars. The new ones. The ones he hadn’t caused.

Stein didn’t know when he started squirming, but the hold she had on his hip slipped down slightly lower and he dug his knees into the mattress to elevate his pelvis, giving just enough room for her hand to settle on his upper thigh as his breathing got harder.

“Marie,” he muttered out, lowly, and she nuzzled between his shoulder blades as a result. She felt the hum of his voice through his skin, could feel how much warmer he was getting, and she was certainly not immune to the sudden heat in the room, either. 

“Stein,” she replied, kissing his jaw from the back, delighting in how he tipped his head back to give her space to bestow affection upon his neck. Her eyelashes tickled his jaw, and he exhaled a shaky breath when her hand moved from his thigh closer to between them and he bucked.

There were no jumbled thoughts in his head as her hands slipped beneath the fabric of his pants, as she pressed herself to his back and stroked him with a soothing, glowing hand. There was just her and the comfort she brought as he bucked, rutting into her touch.


End file.
